


black on black

by venvephe



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Banter, Batman-ish Johnny, Cat Burglars, Cat Thief Ten, Chicago (City), Identity Porn, M/M, Secret Identity, Theft, Unresolved Sexual Tension, VVS my diamonds, diamonds are a boy's best friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27829405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: Ten cups a hand around the Phantom’s exposed jaw and tilts his mouth into a kiss.This is reckless. This isfarmore reckless than stealing six million dollars worth of diamonds - diamonds which Ten promptly forgets about with the little gasp the Phantom makes into his mouth. What the fuck is Ten’s life, that he ends the night by making out with a vigilante on a rooftop somewhere in midtown Chicago?Well. Isn’t the risk what makes itfun?
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 62
Kudos: 348





	black on black

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you see _one_ particular pic of your bias, and it all kind of spirals out of control from there. 
> 
> This was the first of several fics I've written for NaNoWriMo 2020 - all JohnTen, my absolute faves. I couldn't help myself, when I first saw [this pic](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EoILFTIWMAcBSHd?format=jpg&name=large) from Super One. Those rocks in Ten's ears and the black fur, unf. 
> 
> All my love to m_writes and andreanna, for being forever cheerleaders and sprinting buddies this November and always! Y'all are the best, as usual. Writing wouldn't be nearly so fun without you both! <3 
> 
> Title from... well, you know. Enjoy!

Ten has been looking forward to this.

The moon sits full and ripe over the Chicago skyline, its bright face reflected in the river snaking through the city far below him. It glints off metal and polished stone, washing the city in pale light. It’s just Ten’s luck that there’s barely a cloud in the sky tonight; he barely needs his goggles to see in the dark.

Then again, he’s always been pretty good at seeing in the dark. Call it part of his nature.

Ever since he learned that this work - his _real_ work - would take him to Chicago, Ten’s been planning this. The Windy City has always been on his list to visit, with so much to do, to see. Architecture, art museums. Good food, good theater. Deep pockets.

That last one, especially. Ten examines his nails - or where his nails would be, under the protective layer of kevlar and carbon weave. The slits where his retractable claws are hidden are nearly invisible to the naked eye, especially in the muted darkness. Hopefully he won’t need the claws tonight, but it would be fun if he did.

And he _does_ expect this to be fun.

In some ways, Ten thinks that being a thief is as much of a performance as being a dancer. The venue is different, of course, but he can’t deny that it’s thrilling to be seen. Master thievery requires the same practice, precision. It takes diligence to master either craft, dedication to becoming as perfect as possible.

Ten grins to himself as he gets a hold of another ledge, swinging himself up onto the dark rooftop with a flip and landing with barely a sound. Flexibility. An eye for _aesthetics._ That’s why he’s a jewel thief, after all.

And art, too. Ten has good taste.

Tonight’s mark is one that Ten has had his eye on for quite some time, and with this trip to Chicago, it’s impossible to resist. Who is Ten to pass up an opportunity too good to be true? In his expert opinion, there are few things more fun than the adrenaline rush of getting on stage, putting everything he has into a performance that the audience will remember for the rest of their lives.

Stealing diamonds from corrupt politicians ranks almost as high.

The gems are on display in a private gallery; the exhibit has been the talk of the city and art circles around the world ever since it opened. Ten isn’t ashamed to admit that he nearly salivated when he first saw the photos - a looping necklace of pear-cut diamonds arranged to look like blossoming apple flowers, a heart-shaped Burmese ruby set on a pavé diamond cuff bracelet, a yellow diamond pendant nearly the size of a walnut. Millions and millions of dollars worth of jewelry and gems, set on cream-colored velvet under seamless glass cases.

At the time, Ten had wanted to at least see the collection in person - someday. Chicago was just a fleeting thought, then. Now, squatting on a city rooftop with the lake breeze ruffling his bangs, he’s not here to just _look._ He can’t wait to get his hands on them.

Ten isn’t stupid - he knows he can’t steal the showpieces, the unique and priceless heirlooms that he wouldn’t be able to fence. But there are enough simpler pieces on display that he can choose a few prize items - and they’re all owned by a politician who has long been in the mob’s pocket. That should make it even _easier_ to get away with this.

And, to be honest - Ten would feel bad if the exhibit had been on display at the Art Institute. He’s not sure he can bring himself to rob a legitimate _museum._ So he’s a softie when it comes to art. All the more reason to be in the business of… _rescuing_ precious things from undeserving hands.

These diamonds will look better on Ten than on the bleach-blonde trophy wife of some crooked senator, anyway.

So here he is, in his element: suited up in skin-tight leather and spandex, perched on a rooftop that overlooks the Chicago River, goggles pulled up to protect his eyes from the wind. So far Ten hasn’t run into any trouble, from slipping out of his hotel room through the twelfth-floor balcony to climbing up here, clinging to the shadows. The gallery below him has skylights _and_ a whole wall of windows - an expensive riverfront view, naturally, that Ten plans to take advantage of.

This should be a piece of cake.

“All right, baby,” Ten murmurs to himself, checking one more time that his goggles are secure and that everything is in place and at the ready: lock-picking tools, heads-up display, extra-grippy finger pads. The leather cap with the admittedly self-indulgent cat ears that sit at the crown of Ten’s head. He’s ready to go. “Time to get something _shiny_.”

It’s child’s play to pick the window lock on the skylight and drop into the gallery without a sound. Ten tilts his head, listening carefully - and when there’s no break in the quiet stillness, he finally exhales. He’d cased the gallery several days ago, as a civilian - to get a sense of the security systems, guard rotations, and whatever else he might be up against. And to pluck an ID badge off a particularly easy-to-fluster security guard who has a thing for brunettes, of course. Never hurts to have a little something extra in his pocket when he’s running a job with no backup.

Predictably, the private firm handling security on the collection set up an entirely digital system, assuming that technology would be enough to keep their million-dollar jewelry collection safe. Well, and the fucking _single padlock_ on the skylight.

Amateurs.

Ten rolls his eyes, standing from his crouch to glance around and orient himself. Sure, it’s a reasonable assumption that most people wouldn’t be able to get up to the eighteenth floor rooftop without using the elevator. _Most people_ aren’t professionally-trained dancers with a background in acrobatic gymnastics. Ten is, of course. Doesn’t make the security team any less lazy.

Really, it’s like they’re _asking_ to be robbed blind. Ten would almost feel bad, if he didn’t know about the criminal connections that led to this ostentatious exhibit.

Anyway.

Ten glances up and down the hallway he’s dropped into, quickly striding over to the door he recognizes as the server room and badging his way inside with the stolen ID. There aren’t even motion sensors in the hallways - just in the galleries, around the exhibit pieces. Ten isn’t wasting any time, either way - he may be in disguise, but it never hurts to give as little as possible to the security cameras.

The server room is warm and dark, all neatly bundled cables and flashing LEDs in organized rows. It’s only the work of moments to disarm the rest of the system with the little bug that Hendery gave him, planted on the main server rack and scrambling code within seconds. Ten peeks out the open doorway and watches with satisfaction as the light on the security camera in the hallway goes dark, followed by half of the gallery lights.

 _Really._ He was expecting at least a little more of a challenge. The diamonds are as good as his.

Ten strides back into the hall, his quiet footfalls echoing through the empty space as he heads for the gallery. And, okay - Ten has already picked out what he’s going to take tonight, but that doesn’t mean he can’t indulge himself a little and take a private tour of the rest of the collection. The gallery space isn’t huge, but that’s what makes it all the more impressive, in Ten’s opinion - that such a small number of pretty, shiny things can add up to such a high value.

And they _are_ awfully pretty. Ten lingers over the rings set with pink diamonds and emeralds - almost laughably large to wear on one’s finger, Ten thinks - and the aquamarine cufflinks in another case. They would match Louis’s eyes, not that cats can _wear_ cufflinks.

Ten snorts to himself and shakes his head, clearing away the thought. He knows what he’s here for - and it’s time for him to collect.

The pieces of jewelry Ten has picked out to steal are all diamonds - and some of the least interesting in the collection, if he’s going on pure aesthetic choice. But it makes them all the better to steal and resell, since they will be harder to trace.

Of course, there are several that Ten is tempted to keep for himself.

There’s a platinum-and-diamond necklace with draped strands of diamonds that look like a waterfall of glittering stone, a watch band inlaid with a dozen perfectly-cut diamond hearts, a matching pair of eight-karat diamond earrings each nearly the size of a dime. Princess-cut diamond solitaire rings, set in white gold.

It’s all bland rich politician shit. But Ten likes diamonds as much as the next thief, even if these pieces are relatively unoriginal. _Anything_ would look unoriginal next to the rub-encrusted collar Ten had seen a few cases back.

The eight-karat diamonds _would_ look good in his cartilage piercings, though.

Ten presses a hidden button near his wrist, and the retractable claws spring from the tips of his fingers. He sharpened them before he left for Chicago, and now they make short work of the seals around the bottom edges of each glass case. The room is nearly silent as Ten works; he has to resist humming to himself, carefully setting aside the glass cases and plucking the jewelry off their velvet settings.

He whistles quietly to himself when he unpins the earrings from their stand - _damn_. Eight karats is heavier than Ten remembered; each earring is like a hazelnut in his gloved palm.

Ten’s patting around for the zipper to his last empty thigh pocket, the pair of hazelnut-sized diamonds cradled in his palm, when the hair at the nape of his neck prickles. He whips around, eyes narrowed behind the goggles - to face the wall of windows overlooking the river.

Huh.

The gallery is empty, shadowed in half-darkness since Ten cut the lights. Ten tucks the diamonds away and zips the pocket closed without looking, eyes scanning the walls, the entrance to the hallway, the display cases around the room still perfectly sealed and untouched. He knows he’s alone; there’s no way anyone could get in or out without him knowing.

So why does it feel like he’s being watched?

Whatever. Ten has what he came here for; all that’s left is to -

“Those don’t belong to you.”

Ten whirls around, darting away from the tall shadow that has suddenly appeared behind him. If he were a lesser man - or any closer to an actual cat - he would have jumped a foot in the air in surprise. He stays tensed, crouched between two display cases as he takes in the muscular figure that steps out of the shadows.

Ah. Of course. Ten had wondered if he would get the chance to meet Chicago’s infamous Phantom. It’s not every day that he gets to perform a theft in a city with a masked vigilante, after all.

Everyone knows about the Phantom - or what little there is to know about him, anyway. Even with cell phone cameras and security technology, there’s not much to go on as far as information about the vigilante. He’s quite tall, according to eyewitness reports; he keeps the upper part of his face masked, and if the blurry photos are to be believed, he’s quite built underneath all that black, skin-tight Kevlar. The Phantom is clearer about his intentions than his identity - what can’t be done about politicians and organized crime above-board _can_ , apparently, be addressed with some well-placed punches.

Or so the Phantom must believe, to do what he does - Ten doesn’t really pay that much attention to organized crime, besides when it plays into his own interests. He works solo, with the occasional helping hand in the form of gadgets from Hendery and hacking from Yangyang.

But seeing the masked hero step out of the shadows before him, Ten can’t help but think that maybe he should have more seriously considered the fact he’d be pulling a theft in the Phantom’s home city.

The _diamonds,_ though.

Ten had done his homework before he even got on the plane, naturally. Another guy who likes to run around at night in tight leather and a mask? Sure, the _vigilante_ part is a little problematic for someone of Ten’s profession, but he couldn’t help but take a professional interest. There aren’t that many people like Ten or this _Phantom_ in the world. Ten couldn’t help but be curious.

And here he is - the Phantom, looming over Ten in all his muscular, caped glory. He’s got a nice baritone voice, actually, even when he’s trying to disguise it with a husky growl.

Ten smirks. It’s kind of hot.

“You know, that’s kind of the point of being a thief,” Ten says, standing out of his crouch to put one hand on his hip. He raises an eyebrow, though the Phantom won’t be able to see it. “Taking what isn’t mine. That’s what makes it _fun.”_

The Phantom tilts his head to the side, taking another heavy step closer. God, how can he use a name like _The Phantom_ with such loud, thick-soled boots? “So this is a game to you?”

“I mean, kinda,” Ten shrugs. It’s part game, part ensuring he’s set on a few months’ rent, part sending money back to his parents and part funding his expensive taste in clothes - not that he’s going to tell the Phantom any of that.

“Breaking and entering, possession of stolen property, grand larceny,” the Phantom lists out. The leather of his costume creaks as he takes another step forward - and Ten dances back a step, maintaining the same careful distance. “Serious crimes.”

“Come on,” Ten rolls his eyes, “if you keep up with all the underground crime in your hometown - which I _assume_ you do, if you’re here to bother little old me - then you _must_ know a thing or two about who owns this collection, and how he funded it.”

“It’s still a crime to take what isn’t yours,” the Phantom counters.

“Well, at least when I steal things, no one gets hurt,” Ten huffs. Can’t this guy lighten up? “I’m not gonna apologize for giving zero shits about stealing from _criminals_. Now, if you don’t mind, this conversation is so boring it has used up one of my nine lives, and -”

Ten darts to the side, intent on making a break for the hallway - but a metallic flash whizzes by his head, and he ducks into a roll. When he looks up again, blowing his bangs out of his face, there’s some kind of sharp-edged throwing star embedded in the wall where Ten’s head had just been.

Oh my god, this guy has _no chill._

“Are you _kidding_ me,” Ten mutters, dusting off his leather-covered knees. “Why do you care, anyway?”

The Phantom purses his lips. “Chicago is my city. I won’t have anyone committing any sort of crime here. It’s my duty to protect her.”

“Bo-ring,” Ten proclaims. “Being a cat thief is more fun. Be gay, do crimes and all that. And I’ll just back to it, if you’ll excuse me -”

This time, he doesn’t hear when the Phantom moves. Ten ducks and pivots toward the entrance to the gallery, back the way he came - and toward the open skylight, his exit point. But suddenly there’s a dark wall of cape and muscle blocking his way, all six-foot-whatever of this giant stick-in-the-mud _vigilante,_ reaching out with lightning-fast reflexes to grapple Ten as he darts out of the way.

Thank goodness Xiaojun and Xuxi taught him some self-defense moves. They probably thought Ten was going to get mugged on his way home from the dance studio late at night, though, not this.

But hey, Ten won’t look a gift horse in the mouth - not when _this_ is a masked vigilante with twelve centimeters and thirty pounds of muscle over him, attempting to get a hand on Ten and force him under arrest. Or _worse,_ giving up the diamonds.

And that’s not gonna happen.

“You know, this is really - rude!” Ten says, grunting when he brings up his gauntlet-covered forearms to block a flurry of punches to the face. “I’m a visitor to the Windy City and this is the reception I get?”

“When you try to burgle an art gallery, yes,” the Phantom replies in a rumble, sounding barely out of breath. Damn him, he _is_ in really good shape.

Ten ducks and weaves, spinning out of the way so he doesn’t collide with a glass case containing a tempting array of emeralds. The Phantom may have the power and the reach, but Ten has the flexibility. And the cat-like reflexes to dodge the attacks he can’t block. “ _Burgle?_ How dare you. I’m a _master thief,_ not a mere burglar.”

“Yeah? And how often do you get caught, master thief?”

“Never,” Ten flashes a smirk. He somersaults out of the way of an impressively high kick; actually, it’s amazing that neither of them have broken anything yet. “But don’t think that makes you special, baby. You haven’t caught me yet.”

“Doesn’t it?” The Phantom says - and oh, is that a hint of a smile Ten spies on his lips, between artfully-dodged punches?

“You wish,” Ten scoffs. He executes a dodge and roll, skidding across the hardwood floor to put the room between him and the Phantom. “This barely rates as _interesting.”_

Ten’s lying, of course. This is the most interesting thing to happen on one of his escapades in _months._ But he still wants to get out of here in one piece - and with the diamonds.

Even if the Phantom’s ridiculously defined muscles _are_ a little bit distracting. Ten can appreciate his physique even as he’s flipping and twisting out of the way of his attacks; he’s multi-talented like that.

Of course, that’s when the Phantom pulls out the handcuffs.

“Kinky,” Ten crosses his arms over his chest, hip cocked. He can’t resist smirking. “But no thanks. I don’t put out on the first date.”

This time, Ten’s looking for it - so he definitely sees the twitch of the grin at the corner of the Phantom’s full lips.

So sue him, they’re nice lips - certainly as nice as the rest of him, even if Ten can’t see his whole face. He has nearly the opposite build of Ten, who is all lean muscle and lithe grace - a dancer, after all. The Phantom is tall, and muscular, but not in a meathead way. He looks like he could crush Ten’s head between his thighs, though, or hold Ten up against a wall with those arms.

It’s not an entirely unappealing thought. Ten would let him, in a world where they weren’t on the opposite sides of the law, so to speak.

“Well, this has been fun, but I really must be going,” Ten sighs dramatically, pretending to look at a watch he doesn’t have. “I don’t suppose you’re going to be nice and let me leave without a fight?”

“No can do, catboy,” the Phantom says in that rough baritone, and - okay, he’s definitely outright smirking now.

“ _Catboy?_ Like I haven’t heard that one before,” Ten snorts - and oh, he’s enjoying this, too. But Ten does actually have somewhere to be - getting caught would _seriously_ put a damper on this trip. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And with that, Ten extends his claws.

This time, when the Phantom rushes him, Ten is more than ready. He feigns dashing to one side, and then rams into the Phantom’s shoulder with his elbow. The vigilante’s cape whirls by Ten as he tucks into a roll, the soles of his shoes squealing against the wooden floor. He digs in with his claws for balance, leaving gouges in the hardwood - oops, _that_ won’t buff out - before throwing himself headlong at the Phantom again.

It’s clear that the Phantom has never dealt with someone quite like Ten before. Duh, he’s one of a kind - but not just because Ten is quick and agile and small. If Ten had to guess, he’d say that most of the crime in Chicago - when not white-collar corruption by the city’s politicians - is committed by gangsters the Phantom can subdue with his fists. The size of the Phantom’s muscular forearms are evidence enough of _that._

But Ten - Ten knows when he’s punching above his weight class. So he doesn’t punch. He darts and weaves, knowing precisely how to move to put the Phantom exactly where he wants him, with a series of parried kicks and acrobatic twists: underneath the skylight.

And then Ten smirks, because he _can._

Jackpot.

Ten leaps, arching his back and twisting so that he can land a kick with both feet in the center of the Phantom’s chest - but he doesn’t just kick. He pushes off with all his strength, the muscle of his thighs going taut as he uses the Phantom as a springboard to launch himself up, up and out through the open skylight.

Heh. Ten out of ten. He’s home free.

Ten knows better than to waste any time gloating over victory, quickly patting down his pockets - all still zipped, every diamond accounted for - and scanning the still-empty rooftop. No alarms going off, no police busting down the door or pouring out of the service elevator. It’s so late the city is truly quiet, barely any white noise of traffic or rumbling L trains. Ten smirks to himself; if he didn’t just do it himself, there would be no way to know a multimillion-dollar theft had just happened.

And Ten has a feeling that come morning, Chicago _still_ won’t know. If he doesn’t get caught.

There’s a scuffling sound at the skylight, something that sounds suspiciously like kevlar and rubber against sheetrock, and Ten hightails it. He backs up a few steps to take a running jump off the side of the roof, tumbling into a roll when he lands on the next roof over. Easy as pie, when you’re trained as a gymnast and your boots are reinforced for heavy impact.

So Ten keeps running.

It’s hard to pick a favorite part of a heist - Ten loves being a jewel thief - but this is certainly _one_ of Ten’s favorites: the wind whipping through his bangs and the cool air on his cheeks as the sprints across rooftops, the burn in his muscles as he executes a perfect flip across an alleyway. Ten loves to dance, dance is probably the true love of his life - but there’s nothing like the adrenaline rush of escaping with his haul across a dark city, under a blanket of stars.

There’s a tell-tale thump somewhere behind him, and Ten glances over his shoulder - only to grin again, wild. The _being chased_ part is new, though. At least by someone else in black spandex.

He laughs breathlessly, even as the Phantom gains ground on him - curse those stupidly long legs, Ten can’t compete with the Phantom’s height. But he has a few other tricks up his sleeve; he ducks and swings himself around poles, swerving and changing direction as quickly as he can to try and lose his pursuer. He leaps across the gaps between buildings, clinging to the shadows to get out of the Phantom’s line of sight.

It doesn’t quite work - the Phantom is too keen, too fast, and Ten’s panting is too loud to his own ears. But he can’t stop smiling, even as the Phantom gets a little too close for comfort.

This is _fun._

It’s not a surprise that the Phantom throws a punch when he finally gets within range, and they go from chasing across rooftops to hand-to-hand combat once again. Ten dodges artfully, using the support beams on a water tower to swing himself around, out of reach.

“Couldn’t get enough of me before?” he teases, side-stepping another series of blows. They’re fairly well-matched, even though Ten knows that in a proper fight, the Phantom would have no trouble taking him down. Chicago may not be familiar territory, but Ten’s in his element on these rooftops. “I’m flattered, baby. You could have just said you wanted me all to yourself.”

“The diamonds,” the Phantom grunts when Ten feigns to the left and manages to get a hit on him, though he barely winces. “Return them, and nobody gets hurt.”

Jesus, it’s like punching a wall. Ten resists the urge to shake the sting out of his knuckles, crouching low as he waits for the Phantom’s next move.

“Uh, _no,”_ Ten scoffs, circling to the side as the Phantom tries to edge closer. “ _Please,_ I’m not stupid. You’re still going to try to arrest me. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about those handcuffs.”

And there it is again - the smirk at the corner of the Phantom’s mouth, a moment that shatters the illusion of the stoic, mysterious vigilante. _He’s holding himself back_ , Ten thinks. Not from trying to punch Ten’s face in - the Phantom is most certainly still trying to do that - but in trying to keep up a dark, serious façade.

What’s it gonna take to get the Phantom to flirt back?

Maybe it’s playing with fire, but. Well. Ten never did have particularly good impulse control.

“We’ve been over this,” the Phantom says, in that half-growl - but it doesn’t sound aggressive. Mostly he sounds amused - and like he’s trying to disguise his voice. “You’ve committed half a dozen major crimes, master thief. Men like you end up in handcuffs.”

That startles a delighted laugh out of Ten, even as they continue to warily circle each other. “Men like _me?_ Just come out and say that you want to see me tied up. I know what I look like, I won’t kinkshame.”

And it’s true - Ten’s cat thief bodysuit leaves very little to the imagination. The leather and spandex is functional: protective while flexible, exactly what Ten needs when he works a heist. It also makes his ass look like a wet dream.

Ten can’t resist striking a little bit of a pose - hip cocked, back arched and one hand playing with the bodysuit’s zipper at his collarbone. He keeps it unzipped down his neck with only a peek at his chest; Ten’s almost surprised by the rush of warmth in his belly when the Phantom actually _does_ give him a once-over, eyes lingering on Ten’s muscled thighs and the bare skin at his collar.

Well, Ten’s _pretty_ sure that’s what the Phantom is looking at. It’s hard to tell with the whited-out lenses of the Phantom’s mask.

“Maybe I do want to see you tied up,” the Phantom murmurs, the words rippling over Ten’s skin like a physical touch. “I don’t get off on putting criminals away, but…”

Ten raises an eyebrow, breath caught in his chest. He smirks. “But?”

Heat simmers in Ten’s stomach at the way the Phantom takes a couple slow strides forward without breaking eye contact, giving Ten plenty of time to move out of the way - but he doesn’t. The Phantom tilts his head, considering Ten, and he licks his lips.

This close, Ten can see how surprisingly soft they look.

“But you’re something different, aren’t you?” the Phantom asks. He stands there, unmoving - as if for Ten’s assessment, too. And Ten would be lying if he didn’t appreciate how the leather hugs the Phantom’s long limbs, the muscles outlined by how tight the costume is across his shoulders, his chest, down the firm planes of his abs.

What the hell. Ten doesn’t live to regret things.

“I’m one of a kind, baby,” Ten grins, closing the gap between them - coming to stand so close that their feet nearly touch, their chests brushing. God, the Phantom really is _big;_ Ten has to tilt his head up to look him in the eye. “Don’t you forget it.”

And with that, Ten cups a hand around the Phantom’s exposed jaw and tilts his mouth into a kiss.

This is reckless. This is _far_ more reckless than stealing ten million dollars worth of diamonds, which are still currently crammed into the pockets of his suit - diamonds which Ten promptly forgets about with the little gasp the Phantom makes into his mouth. His lips are as plush as they’d looked in the moonlight, giving and warm against Ten’s, a little chapped. Ten shivers when the Phantom kisses back, gentle for only a moment before the tension breaks and spills over.

What the fuck is Ten’s life, that he ends the night with making out with a vigilante on a rooftop somewhere in midtown Chicago? And what a good kiss it is - they’ve dropped all pretenses, now, with a slick swipe of Ten’s tongue across the seam of the Phantom’s lips and how easily they open for each other. Ten’s never felt anything like this before - he’s never been _kissed_ like this before. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s stolen both jewelry _and_ a kiss, and -

_Click._

Ten’s eyes snap open; it’s a faint sound, almost hard to hear over the wet noise of their lips moving together, but he knows he heard something. He pulls away, darting out of the Phantom’s long reach to crouch in the pale moonlight.

There’s a single handcuff around Ten’s wrist, its empty twin dangling from the short chain.

“Nice try,” Ten says, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. It’s a good thing his senses are as sharp as they are - otherwise, he might not have noticed until _both_ of his hands were cuffed.

The Phantom smirks at him, unrepentant at getting caught. His lips are pink, a little puffy. “It was worth a shot.”

Ten chuckles, rising from his crouch to stand again. He takes a few steps towards the rooftop’s ledge, sighing dramatically. “You kiss a boy, and they all want the same thing. And here I thought we were just starting to have _fun.”_

“And handcuffs aren’t fun?” the Phantom grins, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The breeze off the lake picks at the hem of his cape, causing it to flutter behind him. “You’re giving mixed signals, you know.”

Ten laughs, dancing closer to the edge. He stretches his arms over his head, giving the Phantom a wink. “What can I say? I’m a _cat._ ”

With that, Ten jumps - and by the time he lands on the next rooftop over he’s laughing, and the Phantom has started running again.

He’s always loved the thrill of a chase.

-💎-

With his performances - and the heist - out of the way, there’s only one more thing that Ten has to do before he puts Chicago behind him: attend the annual Seo Charity Benefit. It’s one of the most highly anticipated social events of the year in the Windy City. All of Chicago’s elite will be there - and since the Seo family have always been patrons of the arts, Ten is duty-bound to attend.

He frowns down at the invitation in his hand - cream-colored paper, gold emboss. Ten’s not sure how the organizers even knew he was going to be in Chicago the same week as the benefit - Ten himself had only found out a month or two ago. But he’s one of the headline dancers with his company, not to mention the main choreographer; everyone who is _anyone_ knows that they’re in town for this week of performances, so there’s no getting around attending.

And it’s for charity. Ten has to keep reminding himself of that. He does actually _like_ kids, after all.

What Ten doesn’t like is rubbing elbows with the rich and powerful - snobbery has always put him off. Ten has had to work hard for where he is today, and these charity benefits always _reek_ of privilege. Rich people think that they can just throw their money at things, and that will solve the world’s problems. Ten has little patience for people like that.

He can suck it up for one night, though. Especially when it means he gets the chance to wear his new _accessories._

Ten knows he’s taking a risk. But taking risks is _fun -_ that’s why he’s a jewel thief. And Ten needs _something_ to entertain himself with tonight, since he’s certain he won’t find the other guests to be very good company. He’ll just have to make do with knowing that he’s wearing the most expensive jewels in the room, and that none of the hoity politicians or stuck-up art snobs will have a clue.

So here Ten is, riding up the private elevator to the penthouse level of Seo Tower, trying not to fiddle with the buttons of his favorite wine-colored jacket or the diamonds in his ears. He’s placed them asymmetrically; one in his conch piercing, the other in the rook. It’s pretty stunning, if Ten says so himself. Which he does. He knows diamonds.

Also, they’re _eight karats each._ Ten smirks at his own reflection in the elevator’s mirrored walls.

He’ll just make an appearance, he tells himself. Maybe flirt a little, snack on the ridiculous hors d’oeuvres they always have at these things, show up in a few candid photos to prove that he was in attendance. He’ll be back at his hotel in time to do a face mask and skype Winwin before midnight.

When the elevator dings and Ten steps out into the penthouse lounge, the sight that greets him is pretty much exactly what he expects. Call him jaded, sure; Ten just knows rich people. All of the men are in uninspired black-tie ensembles, hair slicked back and coiffed with nearly as much product as their dates’. The women, at least, provide a little color - cool tones are in this season, apparently, and Ten assesses their jewelry choices with a keen eye as he crosses the room at a leisurely gait, heading for the table with flutes of champagne.

He’s not going to get through tonight without at _least_ several drinks.

And of course it’s the thief in him - okay, and the gem snob, too - but Ten’s smugly satisfied to find that yes, he _is_ wearing the most expensive jewelry of anyone in attendance. He has the professional courtesy to not go up to anyone and tell them that their gems are fake, at least. Even if it _is_ particularly obvious, in the case of that B-list movie starlet hanging off the arm of the police chief.

Gross. The fake diamonds, that is. And Ten has no lost love for law enforcement.

Ten snags a glass and finds a quieter corner in the room, closer to the wall-to-wall windows - another sweeping view of the city and the lake, though this time from eighty floors up. It’s a great view, Ten has to admit - not that you could _pay_ him to live in Chicago over the winter - but the city is beautiful, especially at night. Light dances off the surface of the river far below, cars like ants moving through the grid of city streets. It’s too bad he can’t see the Bean from here; he’ll have to stop by and get an obnoxious selfie to send the boys when it’s daylight.

He’s still admiring the spread of Chicago below him when he feels it: a tingle at the nape of his neck, one that raises the goosebumps along his arms. Ten knows he has good instincts; he _needs_ good instincts, for what he does. And he’s always been good at knowing when he’s being watched.

Ten turns slowly, casually, not giving away his sudden apprehension - and somehow, like a magnet, his gaze catches on someone across the room. It’s like there’s a hook somewhere below his belly button, a tug that he can’t ignore - pointing him in the direction of the tall, tuxedo-clad man entertaining a group near the edge of the dance floor.

Ten would be stupid not to recognize him, not to know who he is: Johnny Seo, heir to the Seo fortune and company, owner of this entire skyscraper - if not half of the city of Chicago itself. Sometimes playboy and sometimes philanthropist - depends on who you ask, really - and host of tonight’s benefit.

And he can’t seem to take his eyes off Ten.

The Seo heir has gone all out tonight: brown hair styled to fall just so, midnight-blue tuxedo jacket and silk cummerbund, a perfect bow tie. The color catches Ten’s attention - blue is more traditional than Ten’s burgundy velvet suit jacket, but it’s not the bland, plain black most of the men here are wearing.

Then again, not everyone can pull it off like Ten can. And he doesn’t mind standing out in a crowd.

As Ten watches, Johnny leans down to say something charming to the woman next to him, and with polite smiles all around, excuses himself from the group.

Ten’s stomach twists; Johnny is heading straight for him.

“Good evening,” Johnny says, stepping up beside Ten to look out over the brightly-lit cityscape. “Beautiful view, isn’t it?”

“Mr. Seo,” Ten dips his head in a slight nod, taking in the clean lines of Johnny’s suit, the breadth of his shoulders. This close, he can smell the faint scent of Johnny’s cologne - something musky, masculine - and _damn,_ is he tall. For some reason, photos of the playboy had never given Ten the impression of Johnny’s true height.

Maybe Johnny just always dates models in stilettos. Hendery loves those trash gossip magazines with paparazzi pics of people climbing out of limos and attending award ceremonies. Unfortunately for Johnny, that’s been Ten’s primary exposure to him.

Johnny laughs; it makes his eyes crease pleasantly into crescents. “Please, Mr. Seo was my father! Call me Johnny.”

“Johnny, then,” Ten amends, sipping at his champagne. What does this playboy millionaire want to do with him? Ten _knows_ he’s beautiful, but there are dozens of people here - men _and_ women - who are just as attractive, who would love to have Johnny Seo’s undivided attention. “You throw quite the party.”

Johnny hums, tilting his head as if assessing Ten’s words. His easy smile is out in full force. “Why do I get the feeling that was sarcasm, rather than a compliment?”

“Can’t it be both?” Ten counters, shrugging one shoulder as he grins, a little sly. “These kinds of parties are always a bit strange to me. I was flattered by the invitation, but I’m usually more of an introvert.”

“And yet you like to get up on stage and shine in the spotlight,” Johnny says. At Ten’s widening eyes, he chuckles and lifts his own glass. “What? Don’t look so surprised - of course I know who you are. You sold out the Lyric all week with your performances. Very impressive, Mr. Lee.”

“Ten,” Ten finds himself replying, eyeing Johnny curiously. “Just Ten is fine, if we’re being familiar.”

“Ten,” Johnny says, warm and amused - and, damnit. A little ripple of pleasure runs down Ten’s spine at the sound of his name in that rich baritone. Johnny has a reputation for being good with people for a reason, Ten reminds himself. This is just Johnny being a good host. “So - you’re enjoying your time in Chicago?”

“Yes - it’s my first time, but it’s been lovely,” Ten says, finding himself returning Johnny’s smile. He fiddles with the diamond in one ear, unable to help himself. _Lovely indeed_. “I’ve been too busy to enjoy all the sights, but it’s been a lot of fun.”

“Yeah? You get a selfie with the Bean yet?” Johnny perches on the edge of one of the leather chairs by the windows, swirling the champagne in his glass - clearly with no intention of leaving Ten by himself. Ten doesn’t get it - this is to raise money for charity; surely it benefits Johnny to butter up all of his guests, rather than letting just one monopolize his time?

Not that Ten can complain, really. Johnny isn’t hard on the eyes at all.

“The plan is to make a stop before rehearsal tomorrow afternoon,” Ten says, draining the last of the champagne in his flute. He’d promised himself only two - maybe three - drinks, but it seems Johnny has pulled out all the stops for this benefit. Ten won’t say no to champagne that costs more than a plane ticket to Chicago. “No pizza yet, though, I’m ashamed to say.”

“What!” Johnny exclaims, eyebrows climbing in exaggerated surprise. “No deep-dish? C’mon, it’s the best thing you can eat in the city! If not the pizza, then at least a Chicago hot dog - if you’re a hot dog kind of guy -”

Ten has to resist rolling his eyes. It’s probably bad form to make a dick joke in front of the heir to the Seo fortune, right? “Yeah, I’m a hot dog kind of guy. I’ll make a point to have deep-dish now that our performances are all finished; a dancer has to watch his figure, you know.”

It’s a mild surprise when Johnny’s eyes flick down from Ten’s face, tracing over the lines of his body - and yeah, Ten knows he’s fit, but it’s another thing to be given a once-over by a man like Johnny Seo.

And Ten is _definitely_ getting a once-over from Johnny Seo.

“Yeah,” Johnny finally says, licking his lips before returning his gaze to Ten’s face. His eyes are dark, and when Johnny gives him another smile, it’s with a hint of a smirk. “I’m sure plenty of people like to watch.”

Is he - is Johnny Seo _flirting_ with him?

Ten twists the stem of his champagne flute in his hands, wishing he hadn’t downed the last of it already so he had something to do in the pause that follows. He’s no stranger to flirting - hell, he’d had a _great_ time flirting with the Phantom on the Chicago rooftops last night - but this certainly isn’t where he expected his evening to go.

“Don’t you have other guests to entertain, Johnny?” Ten asks, tilting his head coyly to the side. “Not that I mind the company, of course.”

Johnny gives him a winning smile, looking over his shoulder at the rest of the party. The penthouse lounge is packed, and the main area with the buffet tables and parquet dance floor is a mass of high-heeled women on the arms of suit-clad men. It’s loud, with the sound of clinking glass and laughter in the air - and Ten’s immensely glad to be away from the throng, rather than pulled into conversations about dance with rich people who think they have taste.

Instead, he’s here: tucked into a quiet corner with the millionaire host himself, having a conversation that is odd, but not… unpleasant.

Well, if Johnny Seo wants to flirt, two can play at that game. Ten’s never one to say no to a little cat-and-mouse - not when his flirting partner looks like _this._

“They’re fine entertaining themselves,” Johnny gestures behind him with a wave, “these benefits are more or less all the same, anyway. Not that - not that I don’t appreciate the arts or anything. But a party’s a party right? You host one, you’ve hosted ‘em all.”

“I see,” Ten hums. He wouldn’t know; his idea of a good night is lockpicking and gem theft, which he does solo. Or maybe a night in watching dramas with Hendery and Winwin and a bottle of wine.

“Besides,” Johnny continues, standing from his perch to take another step closer, “I’m certain that the most interesting guest here is right in front of me.”

It’s a dumb line, but it makes Ten smile even as he rolls his eyes. “You probably say that to all the guys you meet.”

“You’d be surprised,” Johnny cracks a grin and plucks the empty glass out of Ten’s grip. “Here, let me get you another drink. And get ready to tell me all about your dancing - and what you’ve done around Chicago so far. I’m happy to give you some tips.”

Ten snorts as Johnny gives him two-handed finger guns, big hands curling around their empty champagne flutes as he strides away. He is _absolutely_ not telling Johnny what he’s been up to in Chicago - not the breaking into a gallery part - even if Ten _did_ find it delightfully fun. A rich guy like Johnny probably wouldn’t find a gem heist nearly as entertaining as Ten does.

He twists the diamond earring around again, catching sight of his reflection in the glass against the dark cityscape. This really is a good look on him - blood-red velvet jacket, tailored slacks that show off the lean muscle of his legs, rocks bigger than cherry pits on his ears.

Yeah, he may end up keeping these. It’s hard not to feel like a million bucks when you’re _worth_ a million bucks. Or three. Ten hasn’t checked the price per karat since coming to Chicago, and he’s pretty sure these are VVS.

“Here.”

Ten turns to find Johnny holding out a full flute of champagne, cool and bubbly, for Ten to take. That was fast - but he’s the host of this party; Johnny must be used to being waited on hand and foot. Their fingers brush around the stem of the glass as Ten takes it, and Johnny smiles; Ten’s almost surprised by the flutter in his stomach.

It sure is something, being the sole focus of Johnny’s sun-like attention.

Actually - Ten is surprised at how much he’s enjoying himself in Johnny’s company. The Seo heir has a reputation for being charming - and that is certainly true, in Ten’s limited experience with the man tonight - but he’s also known for being not particularly capable at running his own business. All the tabloids suggest that he’s far more interested in living up to his playboy title and letting his board advisors manage the Seo company and assets.

But the Johnny he’s talking to tonight is sharp-witted and clever, making Ten laugh - and yes, definitely _flirting._ But flirting isn’t a crime; Ten would know. And if it was, it would be another thing for the Phantom to add to his rap sheet.

Ugh. Maybe Ten’s taste in men is starting to become questionable, even if the flirting _is_ fun.

“Those are quite the earrings,” Johnny says, eyes catching on the diamonds in Ten’s ears. “The asymmetrical look is… stunning.”

Ten preens, tilting his head this way and that for Johnny to admire more clearly. He can see the way the diamonds catch in the dim light, even though he’s wearing them; they throw faint flicks of rainbow light on Johnny’s tuxedo, on his cheek. “Thank you - I thought so too, so I couldn’t resist.”

“They look like they’re heavy,” Johnny leans in to peer at them, warm breath fanning over Ten’s face. “Don’t they hurt your ears?”

“Oh, no - and they’re fake, anyway,” Ten lies easily, grinning at Johnny’s impressed expression. “What, you think a dancer could afford rocks like these?”

Johnny shrugs, smiling. “Well, what do I know? Maybe you have a rich boyfriend who can give you pretty things.”

Ten runs his fingers up and down the cool glass of his champagne flute, resisting the urge to smirk.

“No, no boyfriend,” he says, taking a sip and peering at Johnny over the crystal rim of his glass. He doesn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes slide down to his lips. “I’m a self-made man. I get my own diamonds - fake diamonds.”

“Well,” Johnny starts, his warm voice something like a murmur, “ _I_ think you’re worth the real thing.”

 _God._ Ten can feel the heat rising to his face. Sure, he likes to flirt - but this level of sincerity isn’t exactly what he’s used to. He’d almost call it _cheesy,_ if it wasn’t clearly working so well on him.

Damnit.

Ten clears his throat, turning back to the spread of Chicago below them, lit in a million pinprick lights from street lamps and faraway windows. “So, Mr. Chicago expert - what else do I need to do in your fair city before I leave town?”

“You mean besides pizza?” Johnny grins, taking the switch in topic in stride - and blessedly _not_ commenting on the pink in Ten’s cheeks. “Well, let’s see…”

True to his word, Johnny has a lot of good suggestions. Ten already hoped to stop by the Art Institute to gaze lovingly at the Hopper paintings - but for a rich kid, Johnny has a lot of local hole-in-the-wall suggestions, too. Maybe Ten shouldn’t be surprised; the Seo estate has its fingers in a lot of the city’s goings-on, it probably makes sense that Johnny’s so familiar with it.

It’s another thing that doesn’t add up to Johnny’s himbo playboy image - but whatever. Hendery’s tabloids are mostly sensational gossip rags, anyway.

Ten… Ten is enjoying the Johnny Seo he’s getting to know: charming, funny, down to earth. Has weirdly strong opinions about local coffee and photography, and seems genuinely regretful that he can’t personally give Ten a tour around town.

“You have a multi-million dollar company to run,” Ten laughs, when Johnny laments for the second time that he’s booked with lunch meetings the last few days Ten is in Chicago, and therefore can’t escort him around to a taste-test of both Lou Malnati’s _and_ Giordano’s. “Also, you’re vastly over-estimating the amount of pizza I can eat in one day.”

“I can eat enough pizza for the both of us,” Johnny says, grinning.

Ten cocks an eyebrow; Johnny’s suit is expertly tailored to show off the lines of his body. He may not be able to see much of Johnny's build but Ten can tell that Johnny is muscled in a way that suggests he doesn’t actually eat a lot of pizza.

He doesn’t bother to be subtle about the way he glances down to Johnny’s biceps, and smirks when he meets Johnny’s gaze again. “I’ll have to take a rain check, then. For the next time that I’m in Chicago.”

Johnny hums, looking pleased. “I hope that’s soon. I’ll make time for you in my schedule, just say when.”

“I’d like that,” Ten smiles - and finds that he really means it.

“Ahh, Ten,” Johnny shakes his head, grinning, “I know I really should get back to everyone else, but… maybe it’s weird to say since we’ve just met, but there’s just something about you. You’re something different, aren’t you?”

Ten blinks, brow twitching. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, something perks its ears up in warning. He’s heard that phrase before recently - hasn’t he? But Ten can’t put his finger on it.

He bites his lip, dipping his chin so that when he looks up at Johnny, it’s through his eyelashes. The way Johnny’s gaze flicks down to his lips and back up makes heat pool in Ten’s belly. “I’m one of a kind, baby,” he purrs, and takes a sip of his champagne.

They’re so close, Ten hears the faint inhale, a half-gasp from Johnny’s lips at his words. And - and that’s familiar too, an itch at the back of Ten’s brain -

Johnny swallows. His eyes are dark. “Yeah?” he rasps, his smooth baritone coming out a little rough, and fuck.

 _Fuck_. Ten _has_ heard that voice before.

It crashes into him with the force of a truck - the exchange of words on a rooftop last night, parrying and flirting and circling each other, the Phantom’s warm mouth against his own. The strong jawline against Ten’s gloved fingertips, the Phantom’s kiss-reddened lips when Ten had darted away, before he could get caught.

Those same lips, parted gently in surprise as Johnny and Ten stare at each other.

There’s - there’s _no way._

Is there?

Ten tilts his head slowly. No, he sees it now - Johnny and the Phantom are about the same height, the same build - what Ten can’t tell of his muscles in his perfectly-tailored tuxedo, the Phantom’s leather and kevlar did not leave to the imagination. The Phantom keeps the top half of his face covered with a dark cowl, but there’s no mistaking those lips.

And Johnny’s voice, dipped a little bit lower and rougher, a perfect match for the Phantom. _Fuck._ Ten _does_ have a type, doesn’t he?

From the way Johnny’s eyes have gone keen and calculating, roaming over the planes of Ten’s face, lingering on his mouth and then up to the diamonds - _double fuck._ Johnny’s fingers tighten around his glass, and his easy smile goes a little tight at the corners. He’s put it together nearly as fast as Ten had.

He knows Ten is the cat thief.

Ten barely hears the cheerful chatter in the room around them as he and Johnny stare each other down, a thick silence settling over them. Tension sparks between them, caught as they are like this: it’s tricky business, when someone knows your secret identity. Dangerous, even.

Ten licks his lips. But he _likes_ dangerous.

“You know,” Johnny says casually, swirling the liquid in his glass. His smirk has a little bit of an edge to it now, his warm gaze gone cool, a little sharp. “I thought I recognized those diamonds and that smile.”

Ten can’t help fluttering his eyelashes, head cocked so the diamond in one ear catches the light and his bangs fall over his forehead, into his face. “Glad I made such an impression, baby.”

“Don’t call me that,” Johnny takes a step closer - and Ten lets him, taking a sharp breath through his nose. To an outside observer, this would just look like an intimate conversation. And there’s no doubt it _feels_ intimate; Ten would be lying if he said the tension between the two of them hadn’t been a little sexual, before. Now, identities revealed, it feels - it feels even more like walking that tightrope between what he should and shouldn’t do.

Ten loves this feeling. What’s life without a little adrenaline?

“You didn’t mind it when I called you that last night,” Ten teases, tipping his chin up to keep his gaze locked on Johnny’s - looming over Ten, taking advantage of his height, just like he had on the rooftop.

Johnny’s eyebrows twitch into a frown. “Last night you made off with some stolen property- “

“Because _someone_ couldn’t keep up and couldn’t catch me- ”

“- and I won’t hesitate to turn you in to the authorities if you don’t hand over the diamonds.”

Ten pouts, heaving a sigh. If Johnny thinks Ten's actually going to give the diamonds back to him, he’s got another thing coming. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re a criminal,” Johnny counters, throwing back the rest of his champagne, his expression firm. “I’m protecting my city; don’t take it personally. You should give back what you’ve stolen.”

“But they _do_ look so good on me,” Ten muses, grinning at the way Johnny’s eyes immediately go to Ten’s ears, tracing along the curves of his face. Somehow, the flirting is even more fun now that he knows Johnny’s secret identity.

Oh, fuck. _Secret identity._

Now that’s the story of the century: Chicago’s local millionaire playboy is actually the masked vigilante taking the city’s criminal population to task. Now that he thinks about it… Ten has a feeling that the Johnny Seo the public sees - driving lavish cars, taking supermodels on dates along the riverfront, flubbing press conferences for the Seo company and relying on his board of directors to manage his assets - _that_ Johnny Seo is as much of a persona as the man in the black cape.

Maybe the playboy persona is even _more_ of a mask than the Phantom, who actually covers his face.

Ten would know about leading a double life, after all. He purses his lips, glancing up and down at Johnny before him.

Perhaps there’s a way he can make what he’s learned play in his favor. Knowing each other’s secret identities _does_ go both ways.

“Actually…” Ten starts, taking a slow step into Johnny's space, putting them almost chest to chest. He looks up through his lashes, unable to resist the urge to smirk. “No. I’m not giving them back. And you’re not going to stop me.”

Johnny raises his eyebrows. “No?” he murmurs, tipping his head as he looks down at Ten, eyes dark and gleaming. “You really think I’m going to let you get away with that and walk right out of here?"

Ten chuckles, reaching between them to tug at the fabric of Johnny’s bow tie, straightening where it has gone slightly askew. “You will, baby. Because these rocks may be worth a few million - but your secret is just as valuable a thing to keep, hm?”

Johnny’s nostrils flare, but he remains silent. Ten smirks - _now_ who is the one who’s been caught?

“You won’t follow me out of here, or keep tabs on me once I leave Chicago,” Ten says softly, trailing the tips of his fingers from Johnny’s collar to his shoulder, along the fine lines of Johnny’s tuxedo. Ah, it feels good to be in the position to make demands, rather than the other way around - or running for his life. “You won’t say anything to the police, or the FBI. No one has to know about the true identities of the cat and the Phantom but us. Do I have your word?”

Johnny’s eyes are narrowed, calculating, but he gives Ten a short nod. There’s a grudging smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Don’t think I’m going to forget about you, though. Or that you’ll have free reign of Chicago, if you come back.”

“Oh, I certainly hope you don’t forget me,” Ten smirks, licking his lips. It’s almost too bad that he has to leave, now - leave this party, get on a plane away from Chicago in another day and a half. He quite likes this dangerous flirting with Johnny Seo, playboy by day and Phantom by night.

Ten hums. If this is his one chance, may as well go for broke, right? Johnny already knows who he is.

What’s one more leap?

“But there is something I stole that I’ll give back to you,” Ten murmurs, reveling in the way Johnny’s eyes are caught on his, unable to look away from each other. This is as much of a game, a dance, a chase as last night.

And Ten knows exactly how to play the winning move.

Johnny’s eyebrows crease as he frowns, and when he opens his mouth to ask _what_ , lips already forming the sound, Ten leans up and in and presses their mouths together.

And for a perfect moment, in the dim light of this private corner, Johnny kisses back.

Oh, it’s no wind-swept rooftop, muscles warm from exertion and adrenaline pounding through Ten’s veins, diamonds pressing indents in his skin through the fabric of his pockets. This kiss is the taste of champagne on their tongues, a quartet playing and the hum of conversation fading and blurring as Ten focuses on the kiss. It’s the texture of linen under his fingers rather than stubble and kevlar, cologne rather than sweat.

But just like before, Johnny’s lips are plush and hot, moving against Ten’s with intention. They’ve done this once before; that shouldn’t be enough to give Johnny such an advantage, but somehow he knows exactly what to do with his tongue, curled around Ten’s, one broad hand pressing into the small of Ten’s back to press him closer.

 _Fuck,_ how is this so good? He’s never had an instant chemistry with someone like this before. Ten gives himself three seconds before he’ll pull away and make his exit with one more witty riposte.

Okay, four seconds. Maybe five.

Finally, Ten pulls himself away with a gasp, eyes blinking open - when had they closed? - to find Johnny similarly dazed and pink-cheeked before him. Ten’s fingers have bunched the fabric of Johnny’s tuxedo; he relaxes his grip, smooths over the dark linen with a pat as he clears his throat.

If he let himself, Ten could fall into Johnny Seo’s dark eyes. Maybe his bed, too. But not tonight.

Tonight, Ten forces himself to take a step back, to smirk with more confidence than he feels. “I’ll be seeing you around, Johnny Seo,” he says, finishing his glass and turning to make a hasty retreat.

He’s made it half a dozen steps before he hears his name.

“Ten,” Johnny calls - and against his better judgement, Ten turns to look over his shoulder. Johnny looks - maybe a little more composed than Ten feels, but still flushed, dark-eyed. “Didn’t they ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?”

Ten rolls his eyes. He brushes his hair away from his face, sure to let his fingers linger on the shell of his ear, tugging at one of his massive diamonds.

“And haven’t you heard the second half of that rhyme?” Ten replies with a smirk. “Satisfaction brought it back.”

And with that, Ten heads for the door and doesn’t look back.

He leans against the wall of the elevator on his way back down to street-level, willing the frantic beat of his heart to calm. Because it would be awfully stupid for a thief to have a crush on a vigilante. A _crush,_ god. On a man he’s kissed twice - once while they both were masked, when he didn’t even know the man’s name.

Well, now he does. Ten hasn’t been this reckless with his feelings in a while. Even with nine lives, a cat knows better than that.

Ten grins at his own reflection, at the pink flush in his cheeks and the sparkle of the diamonds in his ears.

But isn’t the risk what makes it more fun?

**Author's Note:**

> It's all JohnTen hours all the time over here, so come yell with me! Check out this fic's moodboard [here](https://twitter.com/ven_writes/status/1333941410110857216?s=20).
> 
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